head and sat upright in his chair—“the ultimate power and sway of an idea among the teeming masses is only effective if it can be realized in front of their eyes; be turned into something alive, something they can see, touch, and feel.”
Her uncle rose from behind his desk. He stepped over his black grand piano and commenced to play. The sweet, melodic stream of a Chopin waltz bathed Rebecca’s senses, consoling her with its beguiling charm and innocence. She relaxed and sank back in her chair, parting her lips to speak, but having nothing more to say.
Her uncle slowed the tempo and danced his agile fingers across the keys with a feathery touch. “The doctors didn’t say that my war wound would prevent me from fathering children . . . only that it would be difficult.” He finished the piece and gazed at Rebecca.
“Are you sure, uncle? Is she really the right one?”
“Yes, I’m certain of it.”
“And what of Mr. McGowan?”
Her uncle let the piano fallboard drop with a reverberating smack against the keys.
“I have made enquiries. Within a few days I will know all that I need to know about Mr. Bret McGowan, but in the meantime . . .” He stepped over to his bookshelf, ran his index finger along the spines until he stopped at a thin leather-bound volume, and pulled it out. “Did Mr. McGowan visit you as I anticipated?”
“Yes, just as you said he would but why did you tell Edward not to answer the door?” She looked down at her shoes. “Mr. McGowan asked me to attend church with him tomorrow.”
Her uncle grinned. “Good . . . and will you continue to do as I’ve asked?” He opened up the book and flipped through the pages. “Edward requires a few more days before I have all the facts at my disposal, then I will finalize my plans.”
Uncle Cade returned to the piano and began another piece. The somber tone and haunting melody were unfamiliar to Rebecca. “Have you discussed your intentions toward Miss Caldwell with her father yet?”
He closed his eyes as he played. “You haven’t answered my question, my dear.”
Rebecca’s pulse quickened. Uncle Cade had been the only father she had really known since her parents died and all he was asking was to charm Bret McGowan until such time as . . . what? She didn’t know but she would have to trust him as she always had. “Of course, Uncle. Anything you ask.”
“Splendid,” he answered without looking away from the piano. “Arley Caldwell is one of my most devout followers. When I am certain the seed of my logic has taken root then all I will have to do is offer Gabrielle the water and light and to make it grow.”
Rebecca pursed her lips and stood. “Is there anything else you wish?”
“Yes. There is an empty medicine bottle on my desk. Please make polite enquiries at the city pharmacists as to the supplier. I’m not familiar with the brand or medicinal contents.”
Rebecca turned and spotted a small, brown bottle at the back corner of the desk. “Are you ill, Uncle?”
He laughed and increased his tempo. “Quite the contrary. I’ve never felt more vital and alive in my life.”
She picked up the small brown bottle and noticed the cap was missing. “Then . . . where did you get this?”
Uncle Cade did not reply for a few moments. “Did Edward tell you how beautifully you sang last night at Mr. McGowan’s ball?
Rebecca blushed. “No, but why should—”
Her uncle dismissed her question by finishing the piece with a single, thunderous chord. He opened his eyes and gazed at her, gleaming with an inner ferocity, an embittered force so penetrating in its depth, she felt transfixed under its power. “Now, listen carefully, for everything depends on what you do and say next. I will be away on Tuesday and Edward has been instructed to . . .”
Rebecca picked up the brown bottle carefully as though handling a vial of poison. Her uncle’s words drifted on the air like the voice in a dream.
“Alcohol will hasten the effect. One more week is all I ask, then my business with Bret McGowan will be finished . . . forever.”
Rebecca looked up and shivered at the dark menace in her uncle’s eyes, a piercing force that chilled her soul more than the singular purpose of his unyielding judgment.
CHAPTER 13
Sunday, September 2
After the service was over, Gabrielle tried her best to engage in light-hearted banter and gossip